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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408253" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Hyde Park Larrikin</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">You may have heard of Proclus, sir, <br> If you have been a reader; <br>And you may know a bit of her <br> Who helped the Lycian leader. <br>I have my doubts -- the head you &quot;sport&quot; <br> (Now mark me, don't get crusty) <br>Is hardly of the classic sort -- <br> Your lore, I think, is fusty. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Most likely you have stuck to tracts <br> Flushed through with flaming curses -- <br>I judge you, neighbour, by your acts -- <br> So don't you damn my verses. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But to my theme. The Asian sage, <br> Whose name above I mention, <br>Lived in the pitchy Pagan age, <br> A life without pretension. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He may have worshipped gods like Zeus, <br> And termed old Dis a master; <br>But then he had a strong excuse -- <br> He never heard a pastor. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">However, it occurs to me <br> That, had he cut Demeter <br>And followed you, or followed me, <br> He wouldn't have been sweeter. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No doubt with &quot;shepherds&quot; of this time <br> He's not the &quot;clean potato&quot;, <br>Because -- excuse me for my rhyme -- <br> He pinned his faith to Plato. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But these are facts you can't deny, <br> My pastor, smudged and sooty, <br>His mind was like a summer sky -- <br> He lived a life of beauty -- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To lift his brothers' thoughts above <br> This earth he used to labour: <br>His heart was luminous with love -- <br> He didn't wound his neighbour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To him all men were just the same -- <br> He never foamed at altars, <br>Although he lived ere Moody came -- <br> Ere Sankey dealt in psalters. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Lycian sage, my &quot;reverend&quot; sir, <br> Had not your chances ample; <br>But, after all, I must prefer <br> His perfect, pure example. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You, having read the Holy Writ -- <br> The Book the angels foster -- <br>Say have you helped us on a bit, <br> You overfed impostor? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What have you done to edify, <br> You clammy chapel tinker? <br>What act like his of days gone by -- <br> The grand old Asian thinker? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is there no deed of yours at all <br> With beauty shining through it? <br>Ah, no! your heart reveals its gall <br> On every side I view it. <br>A blatant bigot with a big <br> Fat heavy fetid carcass, <br>You well become your greasy &quot;rig&quot; -- <br> You're not a second Arcas. <br>What sort of &quot;gospel&quot; do you preach? <br> What &quot;Bible&quot; is your Bible? <br>There's worse than wormwood in your speech, <br> You livid, living libel! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How many lives are growing gray <br> Through your depraved behaviour! <br>I tell you plainly -- every day <br> You crucify the Saviour! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some evil spirit curses you -- <br> Your actions never vary: <br>You cannot point your finger to <br> One fact to the contrary. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You seem to have a wicked joy <br> In your malicious labour, <br>Endeavouring daily to destroy <br> The neighbour's love for neighbour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The brutal curses you eject <br> Make strong men dread to hear you. <br>The world outside your petty sect <br> Feels sick when it is near you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No man who shuns that little hole <br> You call your tabernacle <br>Can have, you shriek, a ransomed soul -- <br> He wears the devil's shackle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, hence the &quot;Papist&quot; by your clan <br> Is dogged with words inhuman, <br>Because he loves that friend of man <br> The highest type of woman -- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Because he has that faith which sees <br> Before the high Creator <br>A Virgin pleading on her knees -- <br> A shining Mediator! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">God help the souls who grope in night -- <br> Who in your ways have trusted! <br>I've said enough! the more I write, <br> The more I feel disgusted. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The warm, soft air is tainted through <br> With your pernicious leaven. <br>I would not live ~one hour~ with you <br> In your peculiar heaven! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now mount your musty pulpit -- thump, <br> And muddle flat clodhoppers; <br>And let some long-eared booby &quot;hump&quot; <br> The plate about for coppers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At priest and parson spit and bark, <br> And shake your &quot;church&quot; with curses, <br>You bitter blackguard of the dark -- <br> With this I close my verses. <br></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408253" data-title="A Hyde Park Larrikin de Henry Kendall" data-description="You may have heard of Proclus, sir, 
 If you have been a reader; 
And you may know a bit of her 
 Who helped the Lycian leader. 
I have my doubts -- the head you &quot;sport&quot; 
 (Now mark me, don't get crusty) 
Is hardly of the classic sort --..."></div>
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